pavements are damp

people like towels brought in

off wet dripping lines

or as ducks flapping in packamacs,


windows defy gaze under blinds

crying tears with their wares.


Mr. Protheroe stares out from his outfitters

at the rain running away with itself.

Damp slate answers back a sky

hewn from hills.


There are buses due, themselves

havens of damp, Cerrig y Drudion

is out there under mythical cloud

as the ten twenty from Penrhyndeudraeth

shimmers. Ab - Gwilym in charge of tickets

with his braced legs in black and machine

bore da to Mrs Williams.


guest houses are low slung behind lace

no disgrace, names hyphenated,

Chapel breath is strong

lasting weeks at a time

and still comes the rain.




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Tue 31st Jan 2017 13:22

Nice to get your input, Martin. Your comments are always like a breath of fresh air.

Paul , Thank you. I was there in the fifties albeit young! I noticed that in shops there would be a slightly shutter down attitude to us foreigners with lapsing into Welsh; who knows what was said? It's different today. (more thoughts please).

Cheers, Tom glad you like it.

Colin thanks. What goes around comes around - rain again!

Thank you Rich. It's nice to hit a spot.

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Mon 30th Jan 2017 20:28

I love this.

<Deleted User> (13762)

Mon 30th Jan 2017 08:38

Superb Ray, every line a winner so I will not try picking a favourite. All the more relevant to me reading in SW Wales on a rainy Sunday with forecasts of a damp week to come. Col.

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Tom Doolan

Sun 29th Jan 2017 18:13

Nice work Ray - A very evocative piece.

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Paul Waring

Sun 29th Jan 2017 16:21

Ray, another really enjoyable poem that showcases what you do so well. I love the way you've combined 1950's North Wales life into the story of heavy, relentless rain. So many imaginative lines, too. Great stuff! Paul

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Martin Elder

Sun 29th Jan 2017 16:02

What an excellent picture you have painted Ray. I live the line 'chapel breath is strong lasting weeks at a time'
Fantastic stuff

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